


while your lips are close to mine

by KeenIncisions



Category: Mafia (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Dancing, Tumblr Prompt, Vietnam War, and Lincoln's bi as they come, i'm a simple mlm but my favorite pairings never have any content so i'm forced to write it myself, in which John has always known he's gay, let these men kiss 2k please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeenIncisions/pseuds/KeenIncisions
Summary: five kisses shared between Lincoln Clay and John Donovan.  set before and during the events of Mafia III.





	while your lips are close to mine

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally a "five times kissed" prompt i received on tumblr, but i figured i'd share it here, too.

_**ONE.** _

It’s 1967, and they’re finally preparing to leave Vietnam, feet blistered and limbs weary from hours spent in enemy territory, skirting allies’ fallen bodies and their own demise.  For the first time in nearly two years, they share a sense of accomplishment, of peace.  They can finally go home.   
  
They know that their experiences here won’t ever be truly left behind; they’ll return in sweat-caked dreams, on nights when the darkness seems to house a thousand hidden enemies, waiting to attack--  but that’s a worry for another time.  For now, they share a small comms tent, downing warm beer and swapping gut-busting stories from back home. 

Somewhere in their shared haze, they find that they’re sitting a little too close, and their knees keep idly colliding, until their laughter slowly dies down into low breaths, and they’re left staring at one another with nothing but the sound of the surrounding jungle to fill the silence.   
  
It’s the first time either of them have kissed another man, but certainly not the first time they’ve thought about it.

 

_**TWO.** _

It’s 1968, and Donovan’s been called to some shit-heel town in Louisiana by a man claiming to be a priest.  The invitation alone normally would’ve deterred him – he and the big guy upstairs don’t exactly see eye to eye – but at the mention of Lincoln’s name, he packed up and drove himself down immediately. 

He’s never seen Lincoln look as helpless as he does laying in that bed, covered in freshly-changed bandages and sporting a look so restless that John can’t help but wonder which grisly tale of death his mind’s recounting in that moment.

Ballard comes to check in, offers Donovan some food.  He declines.  Tells him he’s not hungry, _Padre_ , but if he’s looking to help, some coffee would be great.  He watches the door close and takes the moment of privacy to stand, cigarette in hand, and hesitate before slowly stooping down and gently pressing his lips to Lincoln’s.  It’s been nearly a year since their first, and he’s filled with a sincere longing that this wouldn’t be their last.

 

_**THREE.** _

It’s 1968, and Donovan’s been pacing around his motel room for what feels like an eternity.  His faith is sound; if anyone can pull off what needs to be done, it’s Lincoln Clay.  Back in Vietnam, he proved more than capable – of strategy, of interrogation, of sheer brutality. 

This doesn’t stop him from worrying.  Infiltration is a tricky business, especially in a town where the only prerequisite for alarm and distrust is the color of your skin.  He needs a drink – a strong goddamn drink – and the ever-growing pile of cigarette butts in the ashtray isn’t helping to calm his nerves in the slightest.  The sound of the door opening, as always, causes his pulse to quicken and his hand to instinctively reach for a gun that isn’t there—but to his relief, it’s just Lincoln, looking only slightly worse for wear. 

Donovan immediately stands and crosses the room to meet his friend in the middle, hands finding their way to Lincoln’s face and pulling away once they’re met with the slick texture of petrol.  _Christ_ , he murmurs, a faint smile masking the concern that’s been plaguing him for the better part of a night. 

_What the hell happened?_

A long story, one he isn’t fit to recount immediately. 

_Kept me waiting a long time, y’know._

He does.  An apology is offered in the form of a tired kiss, the smell of gasoline lingering long after their lips have parted.

 

_**FOUR.** _

It’s 1969, and Donovan has finally found some closure.  Against his will, his hands are still shaking, still recovering from finally ending Aldridge’s miserable life and exacting a befitting punishment for his betrayal. 

Lincoln doesn’t say a word on the way back, though occasionally, he’ll steal a glance over at Donovan, steel-faced behind the wheel.  His heart soars with every wave the boat scales.  Finally, he’s free of a demon from his past, one whose presence he could ultimately control. 

He’s silent as they retreat into the motel room and take their respective showers.  Displaying genuine gratitude doesn’t come easily, and while he knows Lincoln’s aware, he still feels as though his playful jabs on the beachfront weren’t quite enough to express what his partner’s done for him.  Before Lincoln can pull on his trademark jacket, Donovan steps in and practically yanks on the front of the plain white wifebeater, tugging the taller man down for a brief, albeit meaningful kiss.

 _I owe ya one,_ he promises, straightening himself as he steps away.  His cheeks burn as Lincoln chuckles in agreement.

 

_**FIVE.** _

It’s 1969, and the Marcano family has been wiped out at the hands of a vengeful warrior, and a man who would do anything to help him.  With his aunt’s guidance, Lincoln has slowly but surely restored Sammy’s to its former glory, and even put his own fresh spin on the place.  He takes special pride in the large mural canvassing one of the walls outside; Sammy and Ellis’ beaming faces serve as a reminder of what New Bordeaux had lost, as well as what it gained after Lincoln’s rise to power. 

The bar’s jam-packed on its official opening night, with patrons new and old gathering to celebrate the restoration of Delray Hollow’s best family-owned establishment.  With Reggie serving drinks and Lil’ Eddie’s band cranking out lively tunes, the party isn’t likely to die down ‘til early the next morning. 

Donovan’s surprised to look up from his whiskey (which, he’s found, is much stronger in the South) and see Lincoln, in full suit and tie, with a hand extended and an invitation to dance rolling ever so casually from his tongue.  John can’t help the smirk that curls at one corner of his mouth.  He’s not much of a dancer, he says, and surely Lincoln wouldn’t want to waste his time when there were plenty of attractive, young broads all itching to get a piece of the bar’s new proprieter. 

His dismissal’s met with a scoff and a shake of the head, a toothy grin spreading across his friend’s face.  It’s the first real sign of the old Lincoln he’s seen since his arrival, he thinks, and perhaps it’s how disarming and boyish the smile appears, or perhaps he’s just gotten soft being around all these Southern folks, but he eventually concedes and allows Lincoln to lead him to the dance floor. 

It takes him a moment to find the rhythm, and his heart skips what feels like several beats, stomach flip-flopping around in his gut, when Lincoln’s hand finds its way to the small of his back to pull him closer.  There’s a split second where his first instinct is to pull away, an age-old thought of self-preservation; he’s not been public with his… romantic interests before, and in this day and age, he’s still not certain that he wants to be.

But in these few precious seconds, with Lincoln’s eyes locked on his, and the band’s homely rendition of 'This Magic Moment' swelling around them, he’s never felt quite so content.  So comfortable.  Not only with his surroundings, but with himself, and what his life has recently become.  And in these few precious seconds, he doesn’t intend to waste any time.  With an unusual display of confidence, he tugs gently at Lincoln’s tie and pulls him down for a kiss, and all at once, they’re the only two people in the room.

All at once, for two men ravaged by a reality that had, until now, been far too cruel, unforgiving and deafening, the world is quiet.


End file.
